


parallels

by brendonurie



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, domestic!brallon, domesticity is my favorite........, it gets a lil hot and heavy but nothing graphic, rated teen for sexy implications i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brendonurie/pseuds/brendonurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brendon and Dallon live together and are super cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	parallels

                He swings the front door open, boisterous and loud, as always. I follow right behind him, subdued and soft, as always. He’s still bubbly and tipsy from this evening’s shindig. I’m still warm and sober as can be. His skinny, black tie is loose and flung askew. My bowtie sits prim and proper where I left it around my neck. He’s messy, giggly, and heavy-lidded. I’m tidy, quiet, and wide-awake.

                He’s never been more beautiful. I’ve never been more in love with him.

                He flops down onto the couch and I sit with him. We laugh, recount the evening, and relish in one another’s glow.

                “Did you see that girl, the one with the multi-colored hair?”

                “Not exactly the greatest wardrobe choice, eh?”

                “Her dress was practically non-existent. And what about her date? Dude was trippin’ all over the place.”

                “He came in like that, too. Probably explains why he let that poor girl leave the house lookin’ the way she did.”

                Our conversation and laughter warm our small home. It was late when we got home, but we continue to talk until the wee hours of the morning. I watch Brendon talk with his eyes half-shut, I listen to him slur his words and lose his trains of thought. As he grows more and more unconscious, I go and fetch him a big glass of water.

                “Can’t have the big man all hungover tomorrow.”

                “You’re the best, babe,” he mumbles. I laugh breathily and smile down at him. My eyes trail his body splayed out on the couch and finally come to rest on his eyes. His pretty brown eyes that are suddenly so wide. The dim light from the kitchen illuminates them, turns them to a pale gold, like honey. He stares up at me with sweet longing and a ravenous undertone. The light shapes his jaw and I see his throat move as he swallows. His mouth hangs open a bit, enough for me to see the slightest glisten of saliva. I’d swear he was pouting if I didn’t know better. I hear his breath shudder.

                Suddenly, this bowtie is far too tight.

                I lean down to kiss him, slow and soft, confident in my level of suave move-making. Brendon, ever ready to ruin any semblance of a plan I have, slings his arms around my neck and wrenches me downward in a flurry of limbs. Amidst the kisses he peppers on my lips I manage a suggestion.

                “Upstairs?”

                He makes a sound of agreement as he rushes his mouth back to mine. I push myself off the couch with one hand and lift Brendon with the other. We stumble upstairs in the stereotypical “just-can’t-wait” fashion. Along the way, we lose our shoes, socks, pants, and jackets. Shirt buttons and ties are a little more difficult for our over-excited and sleep-deprived fingers.

                Finally, we’re down to just about nothing. We leave our underwear on as we topple into our unmade bed. Our kisses run wild; from cheek to jaw to neck to shoulder. Each contact between lips and bare skin is like fire, hot and impossibly hungry. Brendon’s whimpers grow adamant, so I climb on top of him. I kiss him but keep my hips hovering above his. This makes him arch his back, hunting for friction and release. He mumbles incoherently, but my _favorite_ sound only comes after that.

                “Dallon, please,” his voice is so quiet, and almost pained. I smile broadly and lean in to kiss him a few more times. I slowly graze my fingers up his side and watch goosebumps appear. I kiss him again, but I find nothing where there was fervor before. I open my eyes to search for the source of the problem only to be greeted by closed eyes. Sleeping eyes, to be specific. Sleeping eyes and a slack jaw. I’m not that bad in bed, am I?

                I laugh quietly at the turn of events, roll onto my side next to Sleeping Beauty, and maneuver myself under the sheets, all without Brendon stirring. He really is out. I look on as he breathes quietly, forgiving his leaving me awake. I ignore the increasing pain in my stomach and consider his splendor. Sometimes, he’s got looks that make you smile and laugh; looks that bring light to the world around him. But other times, times like now, when he’s lying vulnerable in the dark, nearly naked with cold prickling his bare skin, his looks are terrifying. He’s awe-inspiring like this. I can’t smile when he looks like this, because his beauty frightens the world into stillness.

                I move my hand so that my knuckles are barely touching his arm. As I slip out of consciousness, my final thought is of Brendon: _“I’ve never been more in love.”_

 

***

 

                I wake at about seven, and Brendon’s still fast asleep. The first rays of the morning are cast across his lips, jaw, and collar bones. He hasn’t even moved since he fell asleep last night. Poor kid. Runs himself ragged and never even complains about it.

                I get up and make my way downstairs, not bothering with clothes. Yawning, I straighten up where we left a mess the night before. Then, I move to the kitchen to start breakfast.

                Only a few minutes after nine o’clock do I hear the faint padding of Brendon’s feet coming down the stairs. I flip one of the pancakes in the pan in front of me, then cast a glance at him over my shoulder. He’s standing in the doorway, rubbing furiously at his eyes. Then, his arms are up over his head; he’s stretching and yawning, wide and unabashedly. He didn’t bother with clothes, either. He doesn’t, usually.

                He saunters over to me at the stove as I busy myself with the food. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, nestling his head between my shoulder blades. I feel his stubble scrape my skin and I shudder at the suddenness of it. His skin clings to the warmth of sleep and it emanates onto me.

                “Was last night good for you, hon’?” his voice is thick and deep with rest. I can feel his chest rumble with each word. Smiling, I tell him just what I thought of last night.

                “It would have been better, had I been able to finish.” I say as I turn off the stove and turn to face him. He looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow.

                “You didn’t finish?”

                “Brendon, you fell asleep before we even got started.”

                “Are you serious? I’m so sorry, Dallon,” his voice is incredulous, and he leans in to hug me tighter. “Shouldn’ta drank s’much.”

                “It’s fine. You’ll just have to make it up to me tonight.”

                Brendon steps back and looks at me. He makes eye contact for a brief second, and then looks to the ground, laughing lightly. He comes back to kiss me square on the lips, long and full, but light and delicate, too.

                “Go sit, breakfast is ready.”

                “You’re actually the best ever, Dallon.”

                “Oh, I know, darlin’,” I drawl in the bad southern accent that Brendon loves. I set the plate of pancakes down next to the plate of bacon and hashbrowns. I watch him load his plate and subsequently drench it in syrup. The window behind him filters in just enough light to illuminate his frame. I smile and look down to my own plate and begin eating.

                After a few minutes, I’ve eaten my fill. I sit back and cast my eyes up to him again. I’m met by his. He’s looking at me with something like wonder in his eyes. I look back at him, waiting for him to break eye contact again, but he doesn’t. He keeps right on looking. Eventually, I turn my head a bit and cock my eyebrow in an inquisitive pose. He sighs and grins at me.

                “It’s just… I’ve really never been more in love with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first brallon fic and i'm very happy with the way it came out. i love brallon so much, but i don't have many ideas for it, so if you have any ideas of mostly fluffy stuff you'd like to see written for them please let me know and i'll be happy to oblige as long as it's in my comfort zone!!
> 
> comments, suggestions, criticisms, etc are all welcome. c:


End file.
